


Desiderium

by MahnaMahna



Series: Lilith [7]
Category: Legend (1985)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blood Drinking, F/M, Human Sacrifice, Human/Monster Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:41:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27376654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MahnaMahna/pseuds/MahnaMahna
Summary: Crisis, from a different point of view.Please do not read unless you have read up to chapter 21 in Mother of Demons.
Relationships: Darkness/Lily (Legend)
Series: Lilith [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1546699
Comments: 26
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

It was like taking a deep breath, feeding his shadows. Breathing and stretching, letting himself expand and grow full after the weight of his burdens had compressed his body and forced the air out of him, forced his insides to grow dense, the unceasing agitation becoming more pronounced as it fell in on itself and grew increasingly pressured. More power was more strength to press outwards against the burn of the light, more ease of movement, more space to breathe.

His rolling form was the dusk as it drew down upon the earth, advancing and retreating as steadily as his pulse thrummed in his veins and its strength as dependent upon his nourishment as his own beating heart. Within the dusk and every crevice of the world that the sun did not violate he stood his ground, spread himself out to the best of his ability both across the lands and within the hearts of the creatures that roamed them, the plane of spirit as valuable a territory as the material. 

He crept into their souls through their dreams, encouraging them to feed their lusts and succumb to their hatreds and their every sinful passion, sowing fear and pain in nightmares, dispensing raw energy that could empower or destroy them. He cared not what they did with it, only that they accepted it, made more and more room for it, fed it back to him whether voluntarily or by his own firm insistence. Their worship was as pleasurable as extracting their sins in the pit, relieving and intoxicating to harvest either way.

Of course now his physical body would need tending to. A day or two in meditation left him ready to ground himself, ready to sink back into his skin and feel the solidity of his material being. Food helped, especially as he always came away feeling light, hungry as though he had fasted a week. His lady helped even more, putting him _very_ much back into his body with the soft, womanly, utterly _delicious_ press of hers.

He hoped that she was not sleeping now. She had been sleeping _so_ much lately and he had been trying _so_ hard to let her, cognizant as he was of her body's changing needs, but at the moment there were _other_ needs that she had expressed which he desired to fulfill, _husbandly services_ which he was in quite a mood to perform. Stretching, rolling his shoulders and tilting his neck he closed his eyes again, peering out from the shadowed corners of other rooms to find her.

And opened his eyes. 

The Dark Lord stared at his crystal, blinked and closed his eyes once more, releasing a sharp breath.

The slam of the door echoed when he threw it wide, the only sound in the hall aside from his suddenly heavy breath and the stomp of his hooves as he crossed to their bedchamber. He knew before he looked that she was not there, knew before he shouted that she would not answer and yet did it anyway, unwilling to acknowledge the dread which had settled heavily into his gut the moment he realized that he could not see her.

“ _Lily_?” he called loudly, already hearing panic in his own voice. He wondered briefly if she would have been able to hear it, too.

In the doorway he stopped, staring at their empty bed, gripping the edge of the thick, intricately carved door tightly. His eyes slipped closed again and this time he looked further, looked beyond their private halls and their sovereign realm, looked to the above though he was loathe to even entertain the possibility. It was deep twilight in the forest and though the shadows were long his vision was incomplete, a frustrating patchwork of slowly stretching sensation that grew by miniscule amounts as the sun descended.

Still he could not see her. A disturbing thought occurred to him and his body tensed and froze around the door as he considered that she may not _want_ to be found. She was so _very_ clever, his Lily, if she had been determined he had every confidence that she could hide herself from his gaze.

Would she do such a thing? Had he not feared so since her arrival, somewhere just beyond where he wanted to look, just beyond the halo of his love for her which he never desired to leave? Had he been blinded by his own wants, the passionate, intimate bond between them a thing of his own delusion? Had her interest waned so soon? Had he driven her off somehow?

He considered wildly that he had just withheld something from her for the first time, _denied_ her for the _very first time_ since their meeting. To the first request she had ever made of him he had responded _anything_ without even hearing it, and even knowing what he had learned that night he wasn’t sure he would have refused her. He may have failed to push back the sun, but after all was said and done she had ended up in his arms. The territory was endlessly being recovered and lost again and though it's holding was a sweet prize indeed a permanent end to eternal aloneness was sweeter. To keep her he would do it again. Knowing that it would ensure her return and her love he would hand her his sword and let her betray him without a qualm.

 _Anything._ Anything and _everything._ He showered her with gifts of all kinds, wanted quite desperately to fulfill her most frivolous whims as fully as her deepest yearnings. It was pleasurable to indulge her for many reasons, but was there not a reason beyond pleasure that he always gave her whatever she wanted, whatever she asked for, whatever he could possibly think of that she might desire? Had not his deepest fear become that some unhappiness met in this place might cause her to leave it? And yet what she had asked for had also caused him to fear. _Some unhappiness met_ would perhaps have been a _catastrophic_ understatement had he allowed it.

But she had said _you later,_ with that mischievous look that always meant delightful things for him soon. She had crawled atop him just a few hours before that, had kissed his shoulders and ridden out her lusts on his lap with devotion in her eyes and whispers of forever on her breath. She had asked him for a child such a short time ago and he had fulfilled that yearning too, given her a child who would surely not fare well raised in the light above. How could she leave him _now?_  
  
His eyes were still closed and still he searched, the panic that he had earlier found in his voice slowly overfilling his chest, causing it to grow tighter with each shaky breath he took as he continued to look for her to no end. 

Had she been taken?

The thought brought with it a wave of such intense rage that his body grew hot and his awareness went hazy, his breath so heavy that he was growing lightheaded. Why else might she possibly be hidden from him? Either she hid herself or someone was hiding her, and of _course_ she had not left him. He rebuked himself harshly for doubting her, for allowing his faith in her love to waiver. His lady would not forsake him, would not steal away their child. He trusted her wholly.

She _had_ been taken.

His chest was so tight now that he strained and hunched in on himself, his abdomen seizing. He could not control the enraged bellow which rolled from his core to press up against the tightness, escaping him in a harsh, guttural howl that doubled him further with its force, the volume of his fury carried outwards as he trembled violently body and spirit, as his shadows screamed for her in their own manner and the stone around him shook with his despair. The sound he made was so deep that only the most sensitive ears heard it though the vibrations carried through the earth and the bones of every living creature for miles.

 _Taken._ Someone had come here, crept through his home and taken his Lily, his lady, his _wife._ As he quieted his thoughts were delirious, his anger a fever that churned his blood and boiled through his veins as the word rolled over and over in his head. _Taken._ It repeated itself to him until it lost its own meaning and all he knew was that it meant she was not with him and that someone would _hurt_ for it.

He realized at some point that the door had splintered and in the fog that had not yet dissipated his thought was that she liked these doors and the way they matched the furniture, echoed the patterns in their headboard. Breath still heavy he fixed it absently, not wanting her to see something that she liked destroyed when she came home, and yet at that thought he froze again. She was gone. He had to bring her _home._

A strangled moan escaped him as he pushed from the door and strode back towards the workroom, trying to clear his thoughts as he fumbled through objects on shelves, touching everything and contemplating whether it had any use to him, attempting to find focus and think of some action to take, _anything_ that he could do. Items were considered and discarded carelessly, knocked aside or dropped to break or roll away, forgotten. 

Some components were tossed to the floor more purposefully, guided to land in an open space. He did not quite have a plan yet but brought forth anything that seemed vaguely helpful, any herb or artifact that might provide inspiration. As he moved towards his lady's things he was caught staring at the little earthenware mug that she had been using lately for her potions. He raised a hand and noticed how forcefully it shook, brushing his fingers against the cup softly, against the delicate initial under the rim.

She had wanted to cast for a vision of the babe, but how many things in the entirety of his immortal life had he ever had to look forward to, to _wonder_ about? It was only a short time to wait but that brief taste of anticipation and hope seemed such a rare treat. He could not ask it, always needing her to pursue her own wants, yet she had heard what he did not say because she understood his reasons and acquiesced so easily because she desired his wants fulfilled every bit as much as he desired hers.

His sweet, beautiful Lily, always showing him that she loved him, always telling him so in words and deeds. She gave him such gifts, everything that he had never realized he'd needed, every little thing that she could give. She gave him his pleasures, his joys, his desire to see the future laid before him. Such a valuable thing when the future would stretch into eternity and the desire had been waning for eons. 

Thinking of the depth of her care for him made him feel weak and he hunched a moment, still staring at the mug. It was the first time he’d noticed the letter she had carved and it made him suspect that she had a hope of her own for this child, a name that she wanted to give them. He found it appropriate and agreed, realizing that he shared her hope, had shared it already for different reasons.

His mind was wandering. He needed to focus, yet the memory of her sitting here concocting spells eagerly with her eyes alight was taunting him, distracting him. Lily, _his_ Lily, his ravishing Witch Queen, his wild woman who danced naked for her own joy and made sacrifice in exquisitely pure love, as pure as the Night herself. 

_Will the spell be as effective if I blind him myself before taking his eyes..?_ Her questions had become more advanced, had demonstrated her understanding of the arts, her dedication to them, her ease in performing once harrowing tasks with comfort. She had grown adept incredibly quickly and his pride in her was sharp in his chest, cutting through the tightness as he reached for it to help calm him. Feeling something else was helpful to steady his hands, helpful to steady his thoughts as he finally looked away from the mug and back towards the pile he'd made.

Actually, it was a reasonable first step. His talented, clever queen had given him direction and he praised her silently, more able to focus with a task in front of him. He swiped his hand through the air and sent a command, speaking a few short words as he pushed several objects away, keeping others. He found a large bowl and placed it in the center of his circle as he began, not waiting for the arrival of his attendants, patterns laid with chalk quickly, stones and talismans and candles spread wide as he chanted and worked.

At first when the guards entered he did not look up to acknowledge them, only closing his fist and yanking the human that they dragged through the door and dismissing his minions with a short, impatient wave. Thinking better of it he called them back and ordered a search, no direction to give but to seek their queen, tread where they could, be alert to magical concealment. He sent also for his lady's little elven ally, ready to question him after considering her insistence that he knew all which transpired in the forest. As he gave his orders his head did not lift, still intent on his setup with no time to waste. If he did not find her soon the search would grow _much_ grander. If he did not find her soon _all_ of the creatures of the underworld would be compelled to abandon the pit and their little haunts and hideaways to flood the lands of men tonight, raining chaos and death until she was. 

The man started begging but he really couldn’t be bothered to hear it and did not allow it to distract him as he raised his hand and swiftly put a claw through each of his eyes, the brief moments of resistance just satisfying enough to help him breathe, the sudden increase in agonized wailing soothing to his nerves. They did scream so delightfully when he took their eyes. 

He lifted the smaller figure by his kicking feet, having continued his chanting over the screams. With small effort the human was suspended in the air over the bowl and left as the Lord of Darkness knelt behind him, calling a ritual knife to his hand and gripping the man's hair roughly, pulling back his head to angle his throat at the bowl.

 _“Dagālu Lilith,”_ he hissed, pouring all of his longing for her into the words, his rage at whoever had done this, his fears at the prospect of losing her. As he spoke he slit the newly blinded man's throat expertly but perhaps a bit sloppily for his skill with a blade and the blood sloshed quickly into the bowl though his shaking hands led to more spillage than he would have liked. He paid it no attention, able to work within the mess and unwilling to move more slowly.

The twitching carcass was vanished and he dipped his hand into the bowl, pulling it away to draw alongside the chalk around him. When he was through he stared into the pool, trying to _focus,_ searching for some flicker of her image. After some time he grew frustrated and started chanting again, eventually spitting the words angrily as no vision manifested, flinging the bowl away with a violent swipe of his hand.

The dish clattered loudly against the heavy shelves and blood was splashed and splattered across the floor and up the wall. He sat breathing heavily, snarling to himself before closing his eyes and checking the progress of the dusk. So little time had passed. He groaned, cursing the sun with ferocious malice, determined as it seemed to damn him in every possible way. Come nightfall proper when he could see clearly perhaps he could break through whatever spell obscured his vision. 

He called for another sacrifice, wiping his spell from the stone haphazardly, getting rid of enough of the blood and chalk to begin again. When the human came he left him bound and gagged on the floor, planning to use him once the sun had fully set and then returned his attention to frantically searching through his things once more. 

So long it seemed he cast for visions and used every method of divination he could think of, every method of negating power that would conceal her, used simple spells and complex with nothing to show for it. The lay of bones and crystals told him nothing, needles instructed to point the way spun uselessly until flicked testily to the floor. He asked the flames and consulted the smoke from typically useful herbs without gain, threw powders and potions against the floor only to find no patterns in the mess to interpret. In their bedchamber he searched for some piece of her, looking through items she used often but finding nothing of her body except her scent, wishing that she'd given him that plait of her hair after all. 

_Her lilies._ He sighed deeply in satisfaction as he remembered them, deciding that a flood was his next course of action.

Back in the workroom he sat again before his crystal, making the simple preparations for a furious storm and ignoring the strangled, terrified moans which drifted up from his waiting sacrifice. His claws clicked sharply against the globe as he thought, wondered what manner of spell he was not thinking to break, hoping that she was not hidden beyond the one barrier he simply could not see past. “I will find you, my love,” he promised in a low whisper, reassuring himself though he made the vow to his absent lady before sending orders to collect the flowers at their first appearance.

In short order he had brought the rains but now he was stuck, needing time to pass to continue his search, needing the lands to flood and the day to fully retreat, restlessly tapping at his globe. He closed his eyes, checking the dusk once again, growling in frustration upon finding that still scarcely any time had gone by. After another few moments in which his inability to act ate at his skin, itching and chafing more intensely the longer he sat the legs of his chair screeched across the stone as he stood abruptly, moving from the room again to visit a chamber he had left silent nearly since his queen had taken her place at his side. 

Down the hall the stone sank in towards a wide, steep case of stairs which he leapt down, the blackness so complete that few creatures aside from he would ever see through it. In the chamber below the great hearth sat dark and still, but dark and still was to be expected from the mouth of the Void. This hearth had gone still many times before but his father was beyond the portal, resting yet ever aware. Always he had but to call for him and he would wake and answer, no matter how the centuries may pass, knowing that his son's endurance was his own protection, protecting him in return when it was required.

 _“Father,”_ he gasped, foregoing the chair which sat waiting and falling to a knee instead, gripping the edge of the fireplace beyond the stone sentinels, expecting the flames to burst into dancing alertness any moment. “My queen has vanished before me, abducted by unknown hands. I search and I scry yet no visions come. She is hidden from me. What am I to _do?”_

He waited impatiently, watching for the spark that he was so sure would flare into the thoughtful blaze which accompanied the presence he sought. It did not come.

“Father?” he ventured again, struggling to keep his tone respectful as some heavy feeling dragged along his limbs, the quiet unnerving him. 

Again he waited, and again there was nothing.

“ _Father_?!” His mighty hand slapped the edge of the stone and a small fissure formed but he took no notice. There was no movement from the hearth, no sound from the Void. Not a word, not a whisper.

“Silence. You give me silence now, when I have borne your pain for you and withstood what you could not for a thousand thousand years? You give me silence when my woman has been spirited off though she is all that keeps your burdens from crushing me as I grow weary of it all?” As he said it he knew it to be true, realized just _how_ weary he had grown through the millennia as the thought of losing her and returning to his former existence stabbed at him viciously. He held still, fingers curling and tightening and uncurling again against the stone as the rest of him remained motionless in wait of an answer that he was increasingly certain would not come. 

He finally huffed a mocking laugh, glancing at the statuary which stared forward with blank, unseeing eyes and allowing a rare moment of self pity as he contended with his inheritance and the snubbing of he who had bequeathed it. “And you will have your peace at my expense. You abandon me to my crisis. I leave you be when I am able and ask for nothing but _advice_ and despite my sacrifices you deny me. Would that I could die just to spite you, to give it all back.” A breath rattled in his chest as he considered it, coming to a decision easily, unsurprised in truth at where he had found his thoughts. “If she and I are not reunited I will find a way, I swear it to you now. I will not continue in this perpetual solitude. It is unendurable. I will find a way and I will take the middle worlds with me. You will have no defense and I will have my vengeance upon whoever has taken her and upon _you.”_ He waited a moment more on his knees before he stood, turning away from the quiet sight of his abandonment and slumping against the back of the nearby chair. He did not suppose that he would return again to sit in it.

So his entire drudging existence of miserable servitude was worth _this_ to the master that he suffered for. Now that it was not buffer territory but his own contentment at stake he was left to his plight, desperate and utterly alone.

He had _never_ been so alone. 

Straightening marginally and looking back again, he hesitated before making his last statement. He doubted it would make a difference and suspected that it was already known, yet some remote, uneasy flicker of hope pushed him to say it. 

“She carries my child, father.”

Nothing stirred.

The chair was reduced to splinters in his hands as he dashed it against the cold stone, screaming into the dark portal as his frustration and his resentment swelled and bubbled over. The chair destroyed, he began attacking the fireplace with his hooves and hands instead, unable to cease his assault as earthen guardians were demolished and corners chipped and cracks spread. He kicked at it, powerful legs making rubble of the stonework, sending it clattering noisily away and breaking off yet more as he slammed his elbows through the damage.

Debris littered the ground and dust hung heavily in the air as he stood, chest heaving, leaning against the cracked wall. He moaned and clutched at his head, overwhelmed and feeling like he was about to burst out of his skin. Why had everything turned so suddenly from such splendid bliss to _this?_ Was he to be permitted no measure of happiness at _all?_ Why was it that the moment he thought he'd been granted his own peace, an end to his loneliness, instead he found himself more completely isolated than he had ever been before? 

The air around him grew stifling and he pushed himself away from the hearth, stumbling up the stairs. Half way to the top he paused, resting one knee against a step as he sank down, horn scraping against the wall as his head fell to the side against it. He sat in a daze for only a moment before gathering himself again and returning to the workroom with his heart heavy as broken stone.

As he entered his attendants were delivering baskets of lilies. It seemed that his storm was heavy enough and imbued with enough of his heartache to spur their preternatural growth swiftly. Of the Gump he was told that amongst the forest folk none had seen him since the night previous. When he checked the dusk once more he found that it had finally grown full dark while he had been discovering his father's indifference and he immediately began to stage his next ritual. 

When the moment came he savored the screams as his sacrifice's left eye popped under his claw, sighing as he saw the panic in the right while his thumb scraped towards it. He imagined this man as the culprit of his lady's absence and shuddered in bittersweet pleasure as he took the second eye and chanted, turning him outwards and ducking down to trap the him against his chest with one arm and reach for the lilies he had laid out in preparation with the other. More flowers were already crushed and scattered to line his circle, their crimson nectar following his chalk. The ones he picked up he held as he reached also for his knife, shoving them into his mouth and chewing while he laid his chin over the hysterical human's shoulder. 

They smelled like her, _tasted_ like her and he groaned as the sweet juice flooded his mouth, picking up his incantation again with his lover in his nose and on his tongue. The hand holding his sacrifice against him raised to the man's face, pushing his head back against his own shoulder and baring his neck. A quick, deep incision was made in just the right spot and before the spray could coat the wall too heavily his mouth was upon it and he was swallowing great gulps of fresh, gushing blood as the man's life flowed in heavy streams past his lips.

He did not stop until he was unable to extract another mouthful, admitting quietly to himself that it was only his anxiety at the possible failure of his spell and not the spell itself which required the last drop. The pale body was dropped and he attempted to allow the flavor and the warmth that lingered in his gut to calm the rapid beat of his heart as he sank into his chair, hands wrapping around his crystal as he stared into its depths, searching for answers in the flame which reflected through it from the candle burning just beyond.

 _“Dagālu Lilith,”_ he said as he gazed intently, the words coming out more than anything as a harsh sob. His desperation was in them, every feeling of love and worry and panic he had for her, as was the surrounding rage, but also now was the hurt he had received from his unconcerned master, the layered frustration of his many attempts, the manic urgency of it all compounding upon him as he sat and looked on distorted shapes which gave him no answers.

His breath began to hitch while he stared through the globe in fierce determination, unwilling to let go of his pursuit though inside he began to spiral as he felt the seconds slip past him. He was not going receive what he asked for.

Perhaps he should ask someone else.

Letting go of a deep, trembling breath he removed his hands from his crystal, running them over his face and then raising them before him in a submissive gesture. His mother had never spoken to him directly and her influence was subtle but he made a habit of offering her sacrifice and praise anyhow, always hopeful of her good favor and whatever boon it may provide him. Perhaps now she would recognize his devotion and grant him some miracle as her child sat in distress. 

Love was her domain and love was the core of his need in this moment, his most precious love stolen. In that he realized that perhaps he should have asked her first. Did it not mean that what he sought now was the restoration of his closest connection to her? Was his love for his dear Lilith not his fiercest, his most sacred?

“Mother Night, hear my pleas. Did you not send her to me? Was she not your very own gift?” He said aloud, the pain in his voice stark as it choked him. He took a moment to breathe, attempted to center himself and make a coherent request. “My love has been taken. I cannot bear it, I must have her back. Help me find her. I will do anything asked of me. I will… _please,”_ he hissed the last, unfinished but unable to continue, dropping his elbows to the workbench and his face to his hands.

All was silent but his own tremulous breathing.

 _So much_ silence.

It was crushing him already. Before her he had spent much time in the pit escaping this silence, though he had not considered it as such then, only made a habit of sitting below when he felt the unbearable restlessness that he could not ignore in the quiet. He now recognized that he could feel the stillness of his surroundings taunting him, bearing down upon him as though mocking his own lack.

He could not think of anything else to do.

Looking up at his crystal he saw a strange flare behind it, a subtle brightening of the flame which beckoned him. In wary hope he removed a hand from his face and placed it against the globe, closing his eyes again and sinking into its focus, just on the off chance...

His gasp was a bit watery as his other hand shot out and he gripped the crystal frantically, relief and excitement filling him right to the tips of his horns. His frame was tense as he hunched over it, eyes moving rapidly under his lids and jaw locked.

His Lily was dreaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm thinking two more chapters, maybe just one. We'll see. This may also be edited as we go, honestly I'm being a bit slapdash about things in order to get it out. Ch26 of MoD is also shaping up slowly but surely. I'm alive and writing even though it's at an absurdly slow pace, I promise! 
> 
> A special thanks to Hannibalhoney for the comment that finally pushed me to realize that this needed to happen, though that's also a big thanks to everyone who requested it earlier. I've been having a good amount of fun with it when I actually get the chance. 
> 
> Dagālu- to see, to look.
> 
> We will earn the E rating later, obvi.
> 
> Today is stressful. This is me concentrating on something *else* and I hope that if you need to do the same that this helps a little bit. Xx


	2. Chapter 2

The Lord of Darkness opened his eyes abruptly, pupils dilated widely and irises retaining the hue of his spirit's sight. He exhaled gustily and shuddered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat and leaning away from the workbench. Closing his eyes again slowly and ignoring his lingering arousal, he sat still and waited. 

She would call him soon, he was sure of it. Any minute, any second. He listened to nothing but the soft sounds of the forest, watched nothing but the quiet hills covered in blooming lilies, dappled in shade beneath the gently swaying trees. The now bright daylight largely obscured him once again but it would not matter if she could find him for but a moment so that he could find _her._

He had touched her. 

The time had passed all too quickly, but he had _touched_ her. There were at least some plans laid, tasks to be completed once he could sense her location. She was nearly within his reach. Conscious, without grievous bodily injury… but not unharmed. _Oh,_ but did his blood boil anew at that.

 _Jack._ A name that had not stayed in his head until he’d heard her whispering it in the meadows at sunset as he awaited their nightly encounters. The sweet affection in her voice as she said it seared itself into his heart and his envy had grown heavy and sharp as he'd heard it over and over. _Jack… Jack… dear Jack…_ He was seething with it already when he witnessed her pinning him beneath the dense foliage for a kiss.   
  
He had been more direct that night, his own soft whispers echoing a memory. To his astonished delight she had responded, willing to speak to him, willing to listen, willing to suspend her harsh judgements in favor of curiosity. He'd been slowly, gently easing himself into her awareness with hazy images and memories, suggestions of what could have been and of what could be, glimpses of desire and power and the love that he knew would grow between them with absolute certainty, with everything in him that loved and wanted. He had assumed that too swift a pursuit would lead to further rejection but it had taken only whispered conversation and the dream of an embrace to draw her from the arms of _dear Jack,_ such was the strength of the connection between their spirits, the depth of their attraction. 

And now it seemed that _Jack_ sought to return the favor. He’d assumed that she had been taken for spite or ambition, to injure or weaken him. Attempts to diminish him or steal his treasures were once common and still not entirely unexpected, but his assumption had been incorrect. The aim was not the Dark Lord's power, but specifically his love. To _save_ her. To break his _enthrallment_ upon her. To release her from his foul, monstrous grip. 

He scoffed, eyes still closed. Human men had often been baffled when their women lusted for him, but he was not. 

_“Beloved?”_

Her quiet voice cut through the wind in the underbrush and the scurrying of forest life, the soft sound of it causing him to jolt bodily forward, physical eyes squeezed shut while elsewhere peridot gazed at her. He sighed as he kissed her with his shadows, jaw clenching and heart constricting when she kissed him back. This subtle touch was a calming, joyful thing when she was near him, a promise of greater joys to come. Now the paltry shred of sensation cut him to the core even as he clung to it gratefully, savoring it though it was insubstantial, though it only made him desperate to feel her lips against his in flesh.

In an instant she was gone again and he chuffed in agitation, gripping the arms of his chair tightly. His head tilted back and his tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth as his sneer turned to a grin, for though he could no longer see her, he knew where she was. He held tight to the place where she had been, slippery as it was now bathed in light. Near her were small spots which he dug into, interiors of tiny cupboards that gave him just enough space to orient himself.

A call to his queen's familiar found the bird in a lower level of Fairy, some small pocket of moonlit desert with an entrance that any creature much larger would struggle to fit through. As it answered his summons he folded the space between to hurry its arrival while constructing a delicate silver hoop and a small bead of quartz, smoky grey and included. He plucked a forget-me-not from her garden and held the tiny bloom carefully between his great fingers, cupping it and dropping the crystal into the center, bringing the stone to perfect clarity as it fell with heat and a minor adjustment of its mineral deposits.

 _“Hasās,”_ he whispered, his tone low and persuasive.

The magpie entered as he was placing the now clear crystal onto the hoop and he spoke to it as he tied the flower and the earring together. “Your mistress has been stolen from us,” he said quickly, and the bird squawked in alarm. “I know her whereabouts and must have you deliver this to her. I will direct your wings while you are below tree cover, but all I have above are shadows and they cannot speak to you. Be swift. Do you understand?” It chittered at him and hopped forward, opening its beak to accept its task and he was glad when the bird took off without delay, guessing that it would not need much from him once he gave it a direction. It was a clever little beast, certainly more clever than his goblins. He did what he could to shorten its path once again, folding little patches of ether as the bird flew low under the shade of the forest canopy, unable to travel long in the bright daylight. The magpie was quick as well as clever, he observed with satisfaction, hoping that his lady's memory was solid enough still that she would remember what to do with his gift.

He grunted, considering that at this hour he could send only his goblins to retrieve her. They were a shockingly inept race but hardy enough to withstand the sun and so send them he did, though he also gathered a contingent of more reliable subjects to await the dusk. It irked him greatly that he could scarcely watch them as they moved, frustratingly careless in their wandering, never able to take on tasks of import with the solemn focus they were due. Flog them as he would, their capacity never improved.

In the meantime he set to mixing healing remedies for her, drawing a small blade across his forearm to collect the blood which welled and dripped, the darkest of reds growing pink as he diluted it for one purpose and another. It was the most potent ingredient he knew to heal burns caused by the sun.

 _Burns._ She was _burnt._

He paused in what he was doing, his vision clouding for a moment as anger swept him again. He breathed through it and dug the knife back into his arm just for a moment to help him think and return to his task, back into the existing cut so that it would not leave a new mark. She would not need to know about that. His lady did not like to see his body damaged and scolded him quite roundly if he did it deliberately though he hoped that the ointments would be an exception. Powdered herbs and oils were mixed with the blood, infusions made and other ingredients meticulously measured and combined. 

_A salve for her burnt face_. His lip pulled back from his teeth in a snarl, fingers steady as he poured his mixture into a vial, thinking of her soft, milky skin, pale as the moon but when flushed with her desire for him, now ruddy from the assault of sunlight. 

_A potion for her burnt tongue._ His own tongue pressed hard to the back of his teeth, remembering her sweet kisses and the little noises she made from her throat as she melted under his lips, remembering the noise she made during their dream as she pulled from his kiss in pain. 

_A poultice for her burnt fingers_. A small clay pot shattered under his hand as his claws dug into it, the sharp break a high counterpoint to the growl in his throat. Her loving fingers which soothed him through the days as they slept and held tight to him through the nights as they drowned in each other were reddened and blistered, scorched by the light being used to thwart his rescue.

He stared at the broken pot he'd intended for her poultice blankly, deciding that it would be fine left in the bowl and making no more movement as the bleeding of his arm tapered off, not bothering to dress it. All he could do now was hope that his goblins would do something useful… and wait. 

Baskets and baskets of red lilies filled the room with the scent of her skin and he flicked his wrist, sending the blooms to their bedchamber as he stood and followed. He did not want to be in the workroom anymore, did not want to look at the wreckage he'd left. 

Waiting was _not_ a thing he enjoyed and the long, slow crawl towards nightfall promised to be torturous as he thought of her in the hands of that _boy,_ unable to see them, only able to speculate on what might pass between them, what he might do. As he stood in the middle of the room amidst piles of flowers which were all he had of her to touch he found that he did not desire to hold himself upright any longer, nor did he wish to lie in their bed without her. He sank to the floor instead and made a bed of the lilies, shadows curling over his skin and darkening it to pitch, awareness floating outwards from his physical body so that no piece of him felt solid and he drifted as though lingering in dreams.

He gathered a few of the flowers, admiring their vivid beauty as he ripped off their petals one by one and put them in his mouth, chewing slowly, sliding his tongue along their softness as he gathered their nectar. _This_ was a flavor that he craved, the essence of her life and the mouthwatering hint of her musk just below, though it was better drunk straight from her body. A rare privilege that he hoped to claim many times in the future.

With that thought he chuffed and closed his eyes, not expecting the ache that trailed in the wake of the implications. He did not wish to follow that particular thread of feeling and tried to dismiss the recent images as he savored her taste, thinking back instead to the night they'd consummated their love and the delectable, teasing hint of her virginal blood as he'd pleasured her for the very first time and worked to ready her body for his tender intrusion. He could not ever remember a sweeter taste meeting his tongue.

How he relished the fact that no other had touched her inside, that her flavor was his alone to know. The kiss he'd seen her press to the boy's lips was full of such want and he was certain that if _dear Jack_ would only let her she'd have given him everything. He could not stand it, could barely breathe for his jealousy at the thought of anyone but himself answering the lusts so obviously within her, could not have let it happen when she was _meant for him_. 

And he could feel that she _was,_ had recognized her as his mate as surely as he would know his own flesh from the moment he'd truly set eyes upon her. She had recognized him just as soon but denied it, unpracticed in the interpretation of her intuition and unwilling to waver in her convictions. In the moment he had only seen the passion driving her rejections while he scented the arousal that lingered heavily under her fear and her true wants had seemed clear to him. It was the reason he'd accepted her change of heart so easily that night, he thought she'd only realized quite suddenly the truth of things and pushed past her hesitations. Though that mistake had caused him to approach her cautiously afterwards, he should not have been surprised that she'd responded so easily once the circumstances she opposed were removed, nothing to fear from the decision to talk with him other than what might be between them.

One large hand held a bloom aloft in front of him, the deep black of his fingers contrasting the petals rather than matching them. Seeing this he pulled the shadows just from their tips, wishing to admire the sameness of their color, the way they could nearly be mistaken for more petals but for his claws. It made him feel closer to her while he sat without greater recourse, filled with the floating intoxication of his submersion in spirit. 

When this was over, his lady safe and well, he would need to thank his mother with significant oblation. She had responded quickly when time was precious, right when he needed her most. He had almost neglected to ask her as his prayers to her usually went unanswered.

Didn’t they?

He had prayed to her before his last attempt on the world but she had not intervened in his favor and he had missed his aim. He thought on that a while, thought on the words that he had actually spoken. What request had he made? It took him some time to remember.

_Mother Night, fold your dark arms about me. Protect me in your black embrace. I sit alone, an impotent exile, whist this force… this presence returns to torment me…_

He hadn't truly made one, at least not as he'd meant to. Blix had responded to his call and he had never returned to his petition, had never asked for anything but her blessing, but he had expressed discontent. His intent had been to address the force which encroached upon him but she had heard something else. He had been speaking on his frustration and she had heard longing within it.   
  
That bright morning he had been so desperate for peace, languishing in the pit and only trying to find a comfortable position in which to sit as the sun stretched overhead, a comfortable place to rest his weary spirit as he was chased beneath whatever cover he could find… and then _they_ had come. He’d almost successfully forgotten about the bodies of the light. Those frail, seelie creatures were as much its avatars as his own flesh was for his spirit. He was built of less fragile things than they and yet invariably they weakened him, forced his retreat with their very presence. He did not know where their physical home was but it was _far_ away from his and they had no business in that particular forest, no reason to tempt him by coming so near.

It had enraged him that he attempted to be at rest and they could not just leave well enough alone. Their presence disturbed him more and more the closer they came to his physical body, bludgeoning him with their bright white joy which cared not if it tormented the sadness in the world, bit away at the pain with its laughter and gave no thought to the outrage of the Darkness that sat bleeding, forced to be smaller with their every dancing step towards him.

Of course later he had learned that it was _Jack._ In dreams he listened to his intended’s reflections of the events, had understood though she had not that the unicorns were called for her pleasure. In retrospect though the situation which followed had been a debacle, it had introduced him to his bride and for that he was thankful. 

Perhaps his mother had felt his greatest yearning before he’d realized it himself, had set it all into motion while a different request germinated in his mind, driven by that yearning but misdirected. Perhaps he only felt that she did not answer his prayers because he expected her to answer his words as his father did while instead she answered the pleas of his heart behind them.

 _I sit alone_ , he'd said, sick with envy because the light was not.

One presence, and yet their bodies were two. Male and female, the stallion and the mare. Already under assault he had felt such spite towards them, that they should be blessed so though their spirits overflowed with the hope and happiness of the world already and he had wanted to see their peace extinguished. He had only realized once the princess was in front of him that in truth he most wanted what the unicorns had for himself. Male and female, himself and her. 

Since time immemorial he had fought to gain and keep his power, had battled the unicorns in one manner and another for the right to exist while the sun kept up its careless invasion though rare was the opportunity to strike at their physical bodies. The current age of _balance_ was an uneasy peace which left him territory enough to endure but it was not precisely an ideal arrangement and for a tantalizing moment he'd truly thought that he would end up with everything. It was a perfect dream, to rule a universe of Endless Night with her at his side, to live in freedom and in love, eternally.

He thought of his first sense of her, gained as he made ill-fated attempts at keeping tabs on his goblins, fleeting glimpses under the trees as she walked the forest and hid in the shadow of the greenery with _him._ The Dark Lord was never blind to beauty and had only craved a better look at her until the boy had warned her against her desire and she had paused, considered, and chosen her own will anyway. _Forbidden,_ he heard him tell her later, and her almost unbearably endearing response had been, _Who says so?_

He had not been able to look away from her again, distractedly chasing her image where he could. It had caused him to slip, to lose track of his minions, grow inattentive to fleas which otherwise might have been easily squashed between his much stronger fingers.

 _Jack._

Jack, Jack, _Jack._ He would tie his arms and force him to crawl on his belly through hot coals until his skin blistered and melted in agony and his organs burnt and shriveled. He would dig his claws into the spot above his tailbone and rip it from his pelvis then pull his spine from his body in slow tugs, measuring how far towards his neck he could get before the cord severed and his eyes went dim. He would crush every single bone in his body with his bare hands, savoring each crunch and scream before slowly cracking his skull or his chest plate. The images left a vicious smile on his face but it faded quickly.

She had asked him _not_ to. One of his hands rested on the floor, claws suddenly dragging a screeching path across the stone while his other still held a lily gently. He supposed that though his dismay was severe he was not shocked. Her heart was still soft in many ways but her conviction was strong as ever, a thing he could only adore her for even when she stood against him. 

Jack's excruciating death was something that he wanted _very_ badly indeed, had wanted for years for the crime of knowing the taste of her lips, a greater offense even than his trailing the sun into the very heart of his home or sending arrows through his flesh, though Jack was no rival. Lily was his queen, his lover, the mother of his child. She wanted only him forever, had told him so a thousand and one times from the bed that they shared mere feet away.

 _“Jack_ is no rival,” he spat to the room emphatically, consuming the lily in a single bite.

It was true beyond doubt, she was not with him of her own accord and yet the old jealousy was there, seizing him as fiercely as it had during the twilight kiss that still felt like a dagger in his gut when he thought back to it, knowing that it was not the first, nor the last. Jack had received many kisses before he'd had his first in dreams, but none after. That, at least, consoled him. 

The boy's life may yet be the second thing he denied her. Thinking it made him feel heavy and despondent but thinking of _Jack_ made him feel murderous in a _very_ special way and if he had the chance to rip him limb from limb he imagined the call of his gruesome end would be far too loud to leave unanswered.

He hoped that she might still decide he was not worth protecting, though he suspected that there was only one thing which would convince her. Her fear had been pungent when he'd mentioned the possibility of harm to their child but she'd calmed herself quickly. She was convinced that she could sway her captor and prevent it, but if that fear came to pass he could easily see it turning to an anger which would demand blood. She was fierce given the right incentive.

Another handful of lily petals were shoved into his mouth. Jack did not know _this_ taste. Jack did not know the taste of her bliss either, had never drunk her pleasure straight from her spasming core. Jack did not know the ecstasy of surrendering reason to the embrace of her wet, willing body while she came undone around him. Jack did not know the texture of the skin on the soft undersides of her breasts, had never seen the freckle on the inner crease of her right thigh or heard her scream out her rapture while delivering it to her.

But Jack did know the taste of her lips.

Jack would end the world for want of that taste if he was not careful enough. If he tried too hard, if he succeeded in his goal and banished the dark. He would end her life, unable to let go of her memory. The death of their child would likely be the death of Jack but the death of his Lily would certainly be the death of _everything._

It would be his own death. Long had he spent mastering the forces of magic in the universe, growing skilled in the manipulation of energy in order to thrive. His knowledge was vast and his determination unshakable when he was motivated, as he would most certainly be. Too long had he lived alone. Too long had he suffered with no reward, no reprieve. Such a thankless existence, so devoid of comforts.

His father did not believe he could accomplish the task, otherwise he would have spoken out to save himself the torment of receiving back the pain which woke him. Self-serving, self-righteous and utterly unworthy of his devotion. He could see that now. His father, a soulless Void, bitter at the memory of his consciousness becoming, was _nothing._

His mother was the soul of the universe. His mother was _everything._

Once his dear princess had caught his eye his father had advised him well but he’d known upon their meeting that his mother had surely set her in his path, that the ardent desire of his heart granted was her gift. Love came from no other source. Another lily was pressed between his lips and he rolled to his side, closing his eyes and evaluating the height of the sun by sensation. Why must time pass so _very_ slowly when he most desired its swift departure? 

An armful of the flowers was swept towards him and he buried his face in them as he sat waiting for the sunset, for any word from her. Looking in on his goblins gave him little information as he caught snippets of inane conversation while they walked, unable to fold shady patches of forest around them as they constantly wandered from under the foliage, unable to bark directions at them or kick them into place. His stomach protested the fact that he had not consumed a solid meal since waking but he could not bear the thought of anything in his mouth but her and only kept eating the flowers as the ones he laid upon smeared their juices on the stone under him.

He waited, eating petals and breathing her scent deeply while his heartbeat seemed to slow and the world grew even more lethargic, even more oppressive. It seemed ages before the morning ascended into high noon and though he was glad for the passage of time no longer could he lie still where he was. It had been some time now since he did not have her to turn to during these uncomfortable hours, just enough time for him to become accustomed to her presence and the sun's zenith seemed more poignant than he remembered without her to shelter him. Sweeping his arm in a wide arc to gather more flowers before he rose he quit the room but stopped in the hall, unsure of where to go.

Every room seemed to be full of places that he did not want to be now without her. There was no chair to sit in that he could imagine was comfortable without her on his knee, nor a floor to pace which did not have a memory of her held against each nearby wall and sprawled over every piece of furniture. He supposed he could venture into the unused rooms further down and walked a few steps but stopped again, leaning his back against the wall instead. He did not wish to visit the memories there, either.

Once the rooms down this hall had been crowded with devotees, full of orgiastic activities generating power which he'd participated in frequently to appease his hungers. Those eras had long passed and though such activities still took place in the pit they had never quite satisfied and frustration had led to his abandoning the attempt. He had glutted himself on violence instead to slake other lusts, but by the time he'd met his Lily he’d grown frustrated and bored with that also. It was all distracting for a time but nothing had ever truly helped to calm his restless spirit but her.

His head tipped back and the sound of his horns against the stone echoed loudly. How had he ignored the echoes before? The echoing of doors which only he opened, the scrape of objects on surfaces which only he moved, the sounds of his hooves, bouncing back at him with mocking persistence whether his steps were purposeful or wandering, unaccompanied by the soft pad of her bare feet beside him? His home was _empty._

It was the echo of her laughter which drowned out the other, lonelier sounds, filling the space with warmth, filling his heart. It was her voice, soft and sweet, whispering to him, naming him _beloved_ as her limbs circled his body and protected him from memories of isolation which dogged him as closely as his footsteps.

 _Beloved._ Of all the many names that had been given to him, it was his very favorite. He would have a new one soon, one that he vowed to cherish.

He stared down the empty hall, imagining her before him, twirling, bare and happy, catching his eyes with love in hers. The longing inside of him to reach out and call her to his embrace was fierce and he tried hard to focus on the image only, hands fisting and dripping crimson nectar as they crushed lilies which still filled the space between his arms where she should’ve been. Several dropped to the floor as he lingered on memories of watching her at a distance while she danced through corridors, certain in the knowledge that he would feel her skin against his soon. He tried hard to feel certain of it again.

Another thought of recent changes to her body came to his mind and suddenly the image of her shifted and his fantasy Lily danced still, now with arms crossed over her chest as she cradled a sleeping infant that seemed quite pink against her alabaster skin. This he shut his eyes to though she danced still behind their lids.

Sighing, he decided to surrender to the phantasm and allowed her to dance towards him though she never danced within his arm's reach. He still held a few of her flowers and put them into his mouth one by one until it was full and the nectar ran down his chin, letting his vision go hazy and his head sway forward a bit, still floating. Sitting in shadow was like letting his skin blur into his spirit so that nothing was sharp anymore, letting his physical body diffuse into his larger self. It helped the time go by as he waited, and waited.

He wiped sweet crimson nectar from his chin and sucked it from his thumb and he waited again, eyes fixed down a silent, empty hall, looking at nothing truly in front of him. 

_“Dearest?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I was really thinking that this was going to be two pieces, that the second half was almost done, and then almost done, and then aaaaalmost!!! done! But. It kept getting longer and I realized that the second "half" was almost twice as long as the first and still incomplete so now we're looking at like three long chapters and the third part is legitimately nearly finished. I'm always longer winded than I think I'll be.
> 
> One of the reasons that I thought this would have to be wrapped up in a long second chunk was that I didn't feel like I had a good place to cut it, so I apologize if it seems abrupt. Also, a good portion of the final chapter is smut. Almost all of it, if I'm honest here.
> 
> I was also really hoping to get it out before the 25th so that I could give you a "Merry Currymas, ya filthy animal!" but we'll just play pretend so I can type it out anyway.
> 
> Side note: The choice to use "fay/fairy" rather than "fae/faerie" was a 2am decision that I have stuck with for consistency, but now that I've referred to the *place* as Fairy instead of Faerie it's making me itchy so I plan to go back and edit this at some point, but it's like 160k words of editing. Uuuugh.
> 
> Hasās- to remind, to cause to remember/to recollect
> 
> And a happy (late) new year!


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